


Burn This Note

by ll_again



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst and Feels, F/M, Jim is a mob boss, Molly is an undercover cop, and a frankly appalling disregard for gun safety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 11:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ll_again/pseuds/ll_again
Summary: Undercover expert Molly Hooper is sent deep into the Magnussen organization with orders to bring it down. Magnussen’s right hand, Jim Moriarty, sniffs her out in a second, but proposes they work together to take down the boss, intending to step into the gap. But after they succeed, Jim discovers that tying up his loose ends isn’t as easy as he expected it would be…





	Burn This Note

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BurningLostStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningLostStars/gifts).



> Based on this gifset: <http://whyimmathere.tumblr.com/post/171794574932/sherlock-au-undercover-expert-molly-hooper-is>
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Iridogorgia for shaming me into finishing this. It's been sitting at 90% done for only about a billion years.

"I have enjoyed this, you know. You and I. Together."

His voice slid over her like silk, triggering her sense memory and thrusting her into an unwilling recollection of their last night together, not a week ago. Tangled with him in his bed, Jim painting words of praise on her skin, following each with his clever fingers.

"But you always planned this," she said tightly, swallowing back the memory to focus on the present. Cornered by her erstwhile lover in this grubby back alley, unarmed, while Jim casually handled a pistol, a moment away from using it on her. "So do it," she spat. "Do it, or I'll arrest you next."

Jim's face twisted in anger, and he lifted the gun to her face. Molly simply shut her eyes; there was nothing more for her to say, nothing to do but resign herself to her fate.

She'd run, of course, the moment it became clear that Jim was plotting to betray her for his own gain. Molly Hooper wasn't the Met's Organized Crime Division's top undercover agent for nothing; there was no way she could have missed the threat in Jim's address to the organization she'd helped him take over by arranging the arrest of his boss, Charles Magnussen.

But if she was honest, she hadn't tried very hard to get away. Because Jim … she was smart, but Jim was an entirely different level. It was clear from the start that she was only delaying the inevitable.

The hammer cocked, and Molly couldn't contain her flinch. There was no reason to wonder if it would hurt, because it did hurt. It hurt so much and so deep, not because Jim had proved to be untrustworthy, but that she'd let herself fall for his charms even while knowing what a fool she was in doing so.

(With her eyes closed, she couldn't see Jim's hand shake or his finger slip away from the trigger, didn't see the barrel of the pistol dip down and his arm fall limply to his side.)

"No."

Molly's eyes snapped open. Jim's head was down, his mouth open as he struggled to breath evenly. His hand clenched once, twice around the pistol grip while Molly watched warily. Finally, he heaved out a great sigh and clicked the safety on.

For a moment, she remained frozen, only her eyes moving between Jim and the swath of empty space next to him, her scattered mind trying to calculate an escape route.

He must have noticed, because he moved forward a step, holding out a hand, fingers splayed, into that space. "You can't run, Molly," he said, concern coloring his words strangely. "The whole organization is out looking for you. You won't make it two blocks."

As if speaking the words reminded him, Jim twisted around sharply to look down the alley's entrance. Seeing nothing, he holstered his gun under his jacket and dragged a hand through his immaculately gelled hair. He paced erratically, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering to himself, too low for her to hear.

Fingers clutched tightly around the strap of her bag, Molly watched silently, a fond warmth blooming in her chest in spite of everything.

Jim turned on his heel suddenly, and beelined towards her. Molly's foot slipped backwards, but too late to lean out of the way before Jim hooked a hand at the back of her neck, holding her in place as his lips descended onto hers. His other hand curved along her jawline, angling her head while he worked her mouth open, nipping and licking along the seam of her lips until she parted to let him in.

The ache in her chest dropped abruptly south and bloomed into hot sparks. Molly leaned in – angry and turned on and angry about being turned on – and gave as good as she was getting.

Which, if she was honest, was pretty fucking great.

"I would like to ask you, in good faith, not to kick me in the balls, Please," Jim said between pants once he lifted his lips off of hers.

Breathing raggedly herself, Molly moved away a half step … then hauled back and slapped him, hard enough that he nearly doubled over.

Jim braced one hand on his knee, rubbing his cheek with other, and glared sideways at her. "Do you want to _die_?"

"Will you _make up your mind_?" she hissed back, hands clenched at her sides and panic rushing loud in her ears. " _What_ are you doing?"

He straightened, eyes cutting away from her face, adjusted his jacket to settle better over the gun strapped to his side. His fingers went through his hair again, not doing much to repair the damage he'd already done to the styling.

"You're supposed to die," he said, rocking on his feet, almost pacing in place. "I don't-" he paused, brow furrowed deeply in his confusion and dismay, "I don't have a plan for…" Jim gestured vaguely, "this."

Despite herself, Molly edged closer, hand twitching as she forced it not to reach for him. "Jim…"

His eyes met hers, distress projected plainly from their black depths, and Jim shook his head. A moment later, he'd reached for her again, holding her face in both hands. Molly's lips tingled in anticipation, but Jim only leaned in and rested his forehead against hers.

"You have to hide," he murmured, fingers dancing down her neck almost absently, shooting sparks of lust straight through her. "We have to get you somewhere safe." He traced a thumb along her collarbone, slotting neatly into the dip between them.

"Jim, stop," she gasped. He made a dissenting noise that nearly undid her. With a Herculean effort, Molly gathered her wits, trying to work out a solution that didn't involve them getting caught fucking in a dirty alley by one of Jim's men. "D-do you have a car nearby?"

He sighed, warm breath wafting over her lips, and curved a hand over her shoulder, gripping pleasantly as he moved down her arm.

"We have people in your division," he said, confirming a suspicion Molly had been harboring for months. Jim shifted, lips moving against the shell of her ear. "You can't go to a Met safehouse."

He nuzzled lower, nudging into the hollow under her jaw. Molly's head tilted back automatically, giving him better access to the smooth column of her neck, and Jim made an appreciative noise, demonstrating his gratitude by scraping his teeth along the spot he knew was the most sensitive.

"I-" Molly broke off with a gasp. Jim spanned his hands over her back, holding her weight up as her knees started to give. "I have a place," she blurted. "It's … it's not a Met safehouse. It's mine. No one knows about it."

Jim lifted his head, one eyebrow raised higher than the other, mouth hanging open, his fingers pressing hard against her spine. "Oh, but you are clever, aren't you?" he said, breaking into an impish smile.

His voice dropped, "Slip your hand into my pocket."

"Jim, really," Molly said weakly.

His grin widened. "To get my car keys." Leaning in again, Jim caught her earlobe between his teeth, worrying it gently. "Not that I don't appreciate your thinking, naughty girl, but don't you think we should take this somewhere a little less public?"

…

Jim was barely half a step behind her as she led him up the stairs to the natty bedsit she was renting under an alias. Molly fumbled her keychain as she went to unlock the door, dropping it on the mat.

When she straightened, Jim's pistol pressed into her side. It wasn't the business end; he'd rested the length of the barrel along her waist, a warning rather than an outright threat.

"We're not going to do anything foolish, now are we?" he breathed against her ear.

Molly stared down at her hands, wrapping one around the other to steady herself so she could slot the key into the lock. "No," she said quietly.

Jim leaned into her, wrapping an arm around her and spreading his hand low on her belly. She felt his sigh against the nape of her neck before his forehead landed on her shoulder. "Good," he said. "No more sides, sweetness. Not tonight. Just you and me."

Her head fell back, and Jim caught her against him, pulling her close. The gun slithered around her hip as Jim adjusted his hold on her, but she wasn't afraid. The barrel pressed at the apex of her thighs; Molly sucked several shallow breaths, leaning on Jim's solid weight as her knees wobbled.

Lifting his free hand from her waist, Jim turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. "Let's see what we have in here, shall we?"

"I-it's empty," Molly stammered, not entirely sure it would be. She didn't think anyone knew about this place, but neither could she discount the possibility that someone could have found it.

And there was no doubt that Jim would kill her if he thought she'd set him up.

It was empty; the flat was small enough that it only took a glance to confirm that. Jim nudged her over the threshold, releasing her to stalk through the bedsit for a thorough inspection.

Molly shuffled over to the bed, dropping onto it gratefully while she watched Jim poke through the wardrobe and check the blind spot in the tiny en suite. Her fingers – along with the rest of her, all the way down to her toes – trembled in anticipation, and Molly clenched them in the coverlet.

Jim paused when he turned back around and saw where she'd chose to sit. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Well, Miss Hooper," he purred, keeping his eyes on her as he crossed the flat in three steps to swing the door shut. "It seems I have you _right_ where I want you."

She leaned back a bit, dropped her chin and glanced up at him. "Oh yeah?" Molly said. "And what are you going to do with me, Moriarty?"

His hand went to the knot on his tie, yanking it loose. "I can think of a few things."

…

After, Jim rolled onto his back, hand clamped on her arm, preventing her from leaving. His face, when she peeked at him, was like stone.

"Come with me." The words spilled out of her mouth, like a sudden spattering of rain on hot pavement.

Jim's head twisted towards her, dark eyes silent but blistering. "Should I?" he said in a low, ominous rumble. "Should I just…" he stretched an octave upwards, into a chilling sing song, "leave it all behind?"

"Not all of it," Molly babbled, unable to stop. "You have all of Magnussen's accounts now. You … you could clean them out. And we could go. Anywhere. Wherever we wanted."

As she spoke, Jim's fingers clenched tighter around her forearm, hard enough that Molly was sure she would come away with bruises. She wanted to reach for him, turn and curl into his side… but her limbs were shaky and numbed and she couldn't gather the courage for it.

"Go on the lam with _you_?" he snarled, breathless with scorn and something more. "That your grand plan, is it?"

Molly turned her head away, eyes stinging. She swallowed back the lump in her throat. "No, that's stupid," she spat. "Why would you ever do that?"

Jim's fingers tightened a fraction more, then he released her altogether. The back of his hand slid over her elbow and up her bicep. The caress could only be deliberate.

"They'd never stop looking for us, darling," he said.

Molly's breath hitched. Jim had never called her that before. Many other things, yes, but none so unmistakable.

"My people would be after us for the money. And that's not to mention the police," he continued. "We would spend the rest of our lives running. No. It won't do." Jim reached across her body, cupped her chin and turned her face back to his. For a long time, he just watched her, dark eyes flickering as he examined every centimeter of her face.

Touching his tongue to his lips, Jim opened his mouth and said with a determination borne from regret, "You have to go, and I have to stay."

Neither of them could put voice to the fact that they would never see each other again, but it hung between them like a specter.

Finally, Molly gathered herself and rolled towards him, slipping her leg between his. "Then let's not waste any time."

…

The sun filtering through the curtains woke her, and almost immediately Molly realized that she was alone. She curled onto her side, eyes burning, and buried her nose into the empty pillow, seeking Jim's lingering scent.

Eventually, she had to get up. As she shuffled listlessly through the tiny flat, the conspicuously laden surface of the coffee table caught her attention.

Jim had left his pistol. Ignoring the other items for now, Molly picked it up, weighing the chunk of metal in her hands for a moment before popping the magazine and checking over the piece. It was fully loaded, the bullet that had been meant for her still in the chamber. She snapped it back together and set it down.

Left with the gun was a flash drive and a piece of paper. She picked up the latter, unfolding it and scanning over the handwritten script.

_Molly_ , it said, _this_ _drive_ _contains everything I have on Magnussen. Everything. Take it to the Americans, and_ _you'll find them_ _highly motivated to get you into a_ _w_ _itness_ _p_ _rotection scheme. Do_ _NOT_ _go to the Brits._ – here, there was a large, black mark from where Jim had pressed his fancy fountain pen to the paper for too long, letting the ink bleed out – _Be safe, Molly. Live._

And down at the bottom, he'd scrawled, _Burn this note_.

She did everything he instructed her to do, except that last.


End file.
